


Sharper Than Knives

by Aashyma



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: M/M, transplanted tumblr meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aashyma/pseuds/Aashyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a tumblr prompt: Things you've said that made me feel like shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharper Than Knives

He wakes up to find a stranger in his bed. For a few tense moments he lies still, listening to soft, even breathing and runs over the names of his enemies before remembering that nearly all of them are dead, that the stranger next to him is his irrepressible, incorrigible and-as last night proved-indefatigable apprentice.

 

No, his lover.

 

He sits up slowly as that realisation washes over him, trailing gentle warmth like the summer sun.

 

He scoffs at his sudden sentimentality, recalling the blistering heat of the subcontinent.

 

Leaning back against the headboard, he watches Peter sleeping entangled in crisp cream sheets, one arm thrown across his eyes, the other reaching out in the space between them,as though allowing himself to express in sleep the need and vulnerability he kept under wraps while awake.

 

Not that he-Thomas-had any right to judge in that regard.

 

Resettling himself-carefully, not wanting to wake Peter- he watches the slowly gathering dawn tint Peter's caramel skin gold. Frowns. Recalls the almost-fight they'd had when he-Thomas-being in one of those poetic moods that seemed to be occurring with alarming frequency, had pointed out that Peter was almost the exact same shade as Molly's tart. A look of pain had flashed across Peter's face, before he had, in a rather more pointed tone then usual, told him that he didn't taste sweet, “Although I might stick in your craw the same way, _sir_ ” and soon after gone to bed.

 

Neither of them had mentioned it the next morning, although Peter had withdrawn in his maddening way that made enquiry almost impossible. Not that he-Thomas-is stupid. He understands he's stepped over a line that he-as a well off white man from the turn of the century- did not know existed.

 

He's not used to unconsciously hurting his lovers this way. David and he were not different enough and no one else has stayed-or been asked to- for long. It bothers him, knowing that he can't protect Peter from his own prejudices, collected over a century of privilege. He wonders, not for the first time, what makes him worth the countless unthinking barbs he must've dropped.

 

Peter stirs and smiles sleepily, “You're not planning on spouting fangs are you?”

 

“Harry Potter was bad enough Peter, but Twilight?”

 

As Peter- _his Peter-_ blinks up at him in shock, he thinks _I've_ _fought worse monsters than myself and for lesser men. I can learn a few new rules for him._

 

“You've read _Twilight_ but not Harry Potter?”

 

He gently taps Peter's jaw shut, “I've read them both, along with the rest of your substantial reading list. Turn on the radio if you’re getting up.”

 

 


End file.
